


After

by notcrazyipromise



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hard to explain, Kind of AU, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Oneshot, Phil dies, also my first work, but kind of doesn't, but not really, just read the story, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcrazyipromise/pseuds/notcrazyipromise
Summary: Dan finds himself living in the slums of LA without his friend (fil). He lives a depressing life as a clerk until one day he encounters someone that he really shouldn't have because it's really against all the laws of physics/existence/the universe.But who cares because this is entirely fictional.





	After

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for this absolute mess of a story i promise it's relatively okay despite so many glaring plot holes. (like where exactly is phil? is he even dead? and why is dan even in the US? and why is he a frickin clerk?) i'm not in the least proud of this but at least the story flows and there's enough angst. Obviously no one has read over this story except for me so again, i apologise for the possible grammatical errors that irk me to no end.

♪when I was a young boy, my father took me into the city, to see a marchi-♪

Click. 

Daniel ground out his cigarette into a dirty ashtray. He slammed the CD player onto the ground, brushing invisible specks of tar off as he stood up heavily. He hated that song from the core of his being. It really wasn’t the song itself that he hated, but rather all the things that were irrevocably associated with it. He shuddered, willing himself to empty his mind of every memory that threatened to drown him. Stepping on a bent piece of metal from the broken CD player, Daniel made his way to the only window in his flat. Bits and pieces of glass lay precariously on the windowsill, just waiting to sink into his flesh. The bare light bulb above him flickered and spat, a burning smell rising as it stubbornly continued burning. 

He stared out the stained window, glancing with disgust at the stagnant, clamorous interstate highway in front of him. It was traffic hour in Los Angeles.

Daniel missed London. London was where he was happy. Where he truly felt at home. It didn’t feel right in LA. He was used to England. The soft, clouded sunlight. Sometimes the southern californian sun blinded him. The perpetual brown and barren mountains were a sore to look at compared to the green that he saw while up north with-

There was almost nothing left of his former life. In London, Berkshire, Manchester, or even Rawtenstall, anywhere. It was all gone now, The comfortable flat in London replaced with a stinking apartment deep within the worst slum of LA. The ideal job replaced with a shit clerking job at a law firm. A fucking clerk. Not even a proper lawyer. Convenience gone, an inability to accomplish anything in its stead. A best friend replaced with a deafening, miserable silence.

Miserable. That’s what Daniel was. Absolutely miserable. Lighting up, he threw open the back door, contemplating the filth in front of him. Scattered beer cans, trash bags, soda bottles, dogshit, used condoms yellowed from the sun, and dirty plastic on a sandy dirt patch completely free of grass. A neighbor yelled at her son in unintelligible Spanish, the harsh words flowing and mixing in a strangely beautiful rhythm, unfamiliar words and syllables cascading over each other, connected. A crow screamed to the air, sooty, greasy black wings flapping as in slow motion. A dead heat, blown about by the dusty, scorching winds that also blew sand into his face and crept into his shoes, under his shirt, in his pants. Under his curly mess of hair. Caking his thick eyelashes.

Daniel sat down, his back against bleached plaster, his legs stretched out onto the hard packed dirt. He gazed at a single white cloud lingering just above the horizon, the last of the morning mist he’d come to expect. Every morning, a thin layer of cloud would hover over the city, teasing rain, but disappearing every day. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun scorch his skin.

“Phil,” Dan whispered. “I need you.” Phil wrapped his arms around Dan, pressing his body against him. Dan clung onto him like a lifeline, crying, screaming into his jumper. Streaks of lightning flashed through their open window, fierce drops of sleet and rain struck the roof. It wasn’t the thunder and lightning that Dan was afraid of. It was the prospect—no, reality—of being without the quirky, caring, steady man that he’d depended on for a decade. That night, he’d spent hours lying with Phil, crying interrupted by periods of talking. Just talking. Because they might not ever be able to talk like that again. Ever. 

He lay in the murky in-between of sleep and wake. The dream he just had was inexplicable. Why would he dream of Phil? He’d been doing so well, able to suppress his memories and pretend that he never existed before he left. That he was just another American, just another college dropout stuck in a job he hated. Not someone with a past to speak of. But Dan couldn’t stop replaying his dream in his mind, desperately holding onto the brief feeling of peace and happiness that washed over him remembering Phil’s soft hold and whispered love. 

The memories of pain and longing stabbed him in the heart just as intensely as the first time he felt it, but the feeling of happiness slipped through his mind like water through his fingers in the desert. Dan held his head in his hands, his memories of Phil tearing through him, slowly killing him. Countless hours spent playing games together. Countless days spent traveling together, experiencing new cultures wrapped in their own little bubble of euphoria. When Phil brought him hot tea because he felt poorly. When Phil let him win at Mario Kart because he would whine otherwise. When Phil would hold him in bed, whispering how much he loved Dan. 

Dan sobbed shamelessly into his hands, letting his rampant emotions have free rein over his body. 

“Are you okay?” 

A small, soft, and familiarly articulate voice broke through Dan’s wretched consciousness.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Dan was shocked enough to forget his accent, the southern england enunciation on his tongue for the first time in a few years. The blue eyed, black haired boy picked up on it easily. 

“You talk funny, mister.”

“I just-I’m from...from another country. It’s just my-my accent.”

“Oh.”

The boy stared at Dan’s face, scrutinizing it. Dan felt uncomfortable, the blue, intelligent orbs of light so striking on the paleness of the boy’s face belonging to someone else. The black shock of hair flopping on one side of his face that should be on someone else’s. The caring touch on his knee so achingly familiar. 

“You were famous once, weren’t you? My sister has a very old poster of you in her room.”

“Yes, I was. A very long time ago.”

 

“The other one on the poster? He died, didn’t he?”

Dan felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest and stomped on repeatedly, his breath knocked out of his lungs forcefully, his mouth opening involuntarily in a soundless gasp like a fish out of water. He felt a wake of shock run through him, questions whirring around his mind. Grasping at one, he demanded,

“How did-”

The boy smiled and touched Dan’s cheek gently.

“I’m Phil Lester.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading.  
> i'm still sorry  
> leave a comment if you want to tell me your opinions i promise i'm the last person to get offended if you call this trash  
> also it literally pains me to refer to dan as daniel idk why but yes the dan-daniel shifts were intentional


End file.
